Early May Hike - Dry Hills

This Post returns to the theme of hiking in the West Desert. 

Looking Back Down the Trail, Towards Mt. Nebo.

Early in May I traveled to the south end of Goshen Canyon to visit an area I'd seen before but never hiked. This place might seem unimpressive in comparison with much more spectacular mountains not far away (such as shown in the first two images of this post), but it has qualities all it's own. The West Desert is an important part of the diversity of landscape that exists here in the Intermountain West. I had explored the eastern ridge above the canyon a couple weeks before. The plan this trip was to climb and walk the higher, more extensive western ridge.

Closer View of Mt. Nebo.

The western ridge provides spectacular views in every direction. Hiking up the trail towards the ridge, I frequently paused to look back across Juab Valley at Mt. Nebo, which rises to nearly 12,000 feet above sea level. The ridge I would be hiking this day is not nearly so high, rugged, cold and daunting as those snow capped peaks. Compared to climbing Nebo, my hike that day was rather easy. Maybe another day, Nebo!

Higher Up the Ridge.

Upon reaching the ridge line, I left the trail and headed higher. By this time I was reminded that gnat season was in full swing as no-see-ums mounted a close assault on me. Mosquitoes joined the attack. I dug through my daypack and found a small spray bottle of insect repellent. Applying the repellent pretty much ended the no-see-um's onslaught. The mosquitoes, however, were not impressed and continued to press their attacks.

A creek flows through the canyon, but the hills and ridges around the canyon are dry. That dryness shows in the pale, greyed colors of trees, grass and rocks. This time of year, though, the drab colors of the hills and ridges are punctuated here and there with bright red blossoms of cactus. The surprisingly intense red of the cactus flowers contrasts dramatically with the subdued hues of the surrounding landscape.

Blooming Cactus

More Cactus

Yet More Cactus

There's not a lot of other wild flowers on these hillsides. Those that are in bloom are small, and could easily be overlooked by unobservant passers by. No other flora here even approaches the brilliance of the cactus flowers, but as far as I'm concerned, all of it deserves a hiker's notice.

Once away from the immediate area of the creek, it seems the only species of tree on these hills is juniper. One of the reasons, and probably the main one, for how sparse the trees are on these hills is because of wildfires that occasionally sweep the area.

Fire Killed Tree

 The ridge I walked was a series of peaks and saddles that gradually rose higher the farther north I traveled. The geology of the ridge where I hiked up seem to reveal some granite and basalt. As I headed north along the ridge, the rock formations became limestone and sandstone. 

All along the ridge I could hear the clear, brilliant songs of meadowlarks. At one ridgeline pass I was surprised by a flock of seagulls flying from Goshen Valley and apparently headed toward Mona Lake in Juab Valley. The seagulls cleared the pass by just a few yards directly in front of me, dipping and whirling and banking as they flew.

The Top?

On one of the highest peaks along this stretch of the ridge was an important looking marker. The pile of rocks and flag seem to suggest that this peak has some significance. I have no idea what that significance might be, or even if the peak has a name, but I did feel welcomed when I walked around to the other side of the flag.

"Welcome!"

The next picture shows the view looking north from the peak. The snow capped mountains in the far distance are, from left to right: Lone Peak, Mt. Timpanogos, Cascade Mountain, and Provo Peak. The closer peak at the left in the picture was my goal for the hike.

Looking North

Here's a view from the same spot of the southern end of Goshen Valley.

A View into Goshen Valley

Looking directly south, I could see much of the ridge I had just walked, and a lot more ridges I haven't walked - yet.

Looking Back the Way I Had Come.

Leaving that peak, the ridge took me across another saddle and over a peak that had widely scattered juniper trees growing on it. It's one of the very few places directly on the ridge that had any trees at all. Down a wash on the western side of the ridge I could hear a batch of chukar partridges chatting among themselves.

The Next-to-the-Last peak on the Ridge.

Hiking beyond that, I finally made it to the end of the ridge. The last peak was marked with a scraggly-looking pole that was slowly loosing what I think were it's guy wires. The pole may have had a flag on it at one time, but looked like it would make a better lightning rod than flagpole.

End of the Ridge, But Not the Hike...

Walking around to the other side of the marker I looked down the end of the ridge. Two golden eagles were in a dead tree on the other side, just below the peak. Startled by my sudden appearance right above them, they took flight. The eagles soared back and forth a hundred or so yards from me. I tried to take a couple pictures of them, but the pics didn't turn out.

I really wanted to stay and watch the eagles but mosquitoes were becoming intolerable. I was killing mosquitoes on my arms, sometimes three or four per swat. Also, the sun was just above the mountains to the west, and it would be dark soon. I headed down the mountainside to find a way back to my car. Farther down the slope I crossed a small ridge and traveled into a little valley where I saw a herd of mule deer. It was fully night by the time I crossed another small ridge on my way out of that valley. I hiked in the dark looking for a dirt road I believed was in the area. If I found it, it should lead me back to where the car was parked. As I walked farther down the mountainside I heard a coyote begin to yap and howl in the hills just across the canyon. Finally I found the road. From there I walked in the dark along the dusty road playing a game I call, "Where The Heck Did I Park The Car?!" I can't say it's always a fun game. I don't know how far I walked - by this time it seemed a lot longer than it probably was - but I eventually arrived at my car. From there it was down the dirt trail to pavement, and then, back home.

Two Hikes

This post compresses two hikes into one post. The first was on West Mountain a few days before the first day of Spring, the second hike was in the East Tintic Mountains a couple days after the Vernal Equinox. Weather for both hikes was partly to mostly cloudy, with a chance for precipitation.

Click on the photos to see larger versions.

The first photo shows the approach to the stone gateway into the mysterious mountain!

Then through the gateway!

My hike followed a broad wash in a canyon which zig-zaged up the mountain. Here it passes a wall of vertical rock strata.

Looking back at a section of the rock wall.

I wonder what might live in that jagged cave?

Looking back down canyon. The rocky, treeless nature of this landscape reminds me of pictures I've seen of Siani, where the ancient Twelve Tribes of Israel wandered for forty years on the way to the Promised Land. Perhaps it even reminds me of remote parts of the Holy Land.

Looking down canyon again, a while later, with a view across the lake and towards the Traverse Mountains.

Getting higher up canyon where the snow is.

The wash begins to narrow.

Eventually, the wash narrowed into a gully. I wanted to climb higher, and did walk a little ways past where the next photo was taken, but storm clouds were gathering overhead, and soon some rain began to fall. Gullies are not good places to be in rainstorms, so I donned my rain gear and turned back down the canyon. Most of the return hike was after nightfall.

The rain ended and the cloud cover became broken as I reached the bottom of the canyon. Upon exiting the canyon I saw to the west and south, huge anvil-shaped clouds silhouetted against an orangish afterglow along the horizon. Above me the constellation Orion and the Pleiades shone down through scattered clouds.

Some might find such a barren landscape unappealing, but I enjoyed it! It doesn't matter to me so much whether a place is forested, grassy, rocky, mountainous, hilly, marshy, sandy, or what-have-you. What matters to me is that it is wild. I found mule deer and chukar partridges, among other wildlife, in the canyon. Some of the limestone outcrops and boulders appear to have fossilized crinoids or brachiopods in them. Someday I'll take that canyon again, when I have enough time, and try to follow it all the way to the top.

Me in the canyon:

__________________________

The next hike was around a week later, this time in the East Tintic Mountains. The first photo is well into the hike, as I had already climbed over a barbed wire fence, crossed a large chained area, hiked through some brush and over a small ridge. Here a rancher's road ended at a gate in another fence. One day I'll pass through that gate and explore farther up that way, but on this day I chose to go another direction.

One of the reasons I had picked this place to hike was because the Wasatch Mountains were socked in by winter weather that seemed unwilling to relent to Spring. I imagine a hike in one of my usual Wasatch canyons would have likely been a hike in a blizzard. Here, the weather was a little cool, but pleasant, with the sun shining most of the day. This photo shows sunshine where I was, and the distant Wasatch Range rising into storm clouds.

I hiked over small ridges and in and out of washes all afternoon, not following any particular route. The next photo shows the typical pinyon pine and juniper covered hills I hiked in that day:

In failing daylight, I photographed this rock outcrop at the edge of a wash:

Some of the hiking gear I typically take with me:

Once again, my hike back was after dark. I arrived at the car after 9:00 PM. Stars shone down through a hazy sky, with the planet Venus in the western sky upstaging every other star with it's dazzling brilliance. This time of year, it's still winter constellations that show in the late evening sky; Orion, Canis Major, Gemini, Auriga, Taurus, and the Pleiades, to name a few. Mid summer will bring a different parade of constellations to the night sky; Cygnus, Aquila, and Lyra - their brightest stars forming an asterism called the Summer Triangle. Also, low in the southern sky Scorpius will have finally climbed above the horizon. I certainly look forward to summer, but won't pass up the wonderful opportunities Springtime hikes provide!

A selfie from the East Tintic Mountain hike:

A Couple of Early Spring Hikes

Technically, it wasn't early Spring when I took these photos, but high up in the mountains springtime lags behind the lower valley. Because of that, up high it looks like Spring is just getting started. Even higher it looks like winter still.

About a month ago I went for another hike up the same canyon I've been visiting off and on for a few months now. Less than a mile into the hike, I looked back and saw four Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep resting high on a ridge maybe three hundred or four hundred yards from me. The camera I carry on these hikes is a cheap little Casio, and it's rather limited in what it can do. I snapped a picture anyway. If you can't see the four bighorns on the skyline in the photo shown above, I'll include the next picture pointing them out.

The vegetation had greened up considerably since the last time I was in the canyon, though the trees had not leafed out completely.

Here's a section of thick stuff just off the trail about halfway to where the trail forks.

As I hike, I try to remember to look around - not just focus on whats ahead. That's how I got to see the bighorn sheep I mentioned earlier. There's other reasons to keep aware of the landscape behind and all around you. This is a view looking back down canyon to the cliffs and slopes I passed below earlier in the hike.

There's not much left of the avalanche tongue I had to hike over earlier this year. Small trees that were once mostly buried under several feet of snow are now beginning to sprout leaves.

The next picture is a view looking up canyon from the avalanche chute. If you look at the brush in the foreground you might notice that all those little trees are leaning dramatically down slope. These small trees are growing in the avalanche chute. The down-hill angle of the brush is caused by the force of avalanches that sweep down over them every winter, pressing them down. Some of the trees even seem to grow downhill, with only the very tips of the branches curving upwards. These trees might never reach beyond sapling size. From my observation, every tree in the avalanche chute that reaches a trunk diameter of two inches looses sufficient flexibility and is then snapped off by an avalanche.

Upon reaching the trail fork I head up the right hand trail to a meadow. I brought with me a little sheet metal fireplace. Disassembled, it stores completely flat, and is quick and easy to set up. I also brought a brand new 16 oz. stainless steel cup to cook in. 

The little sheet steel fireplace worked surprisingly well. Fed a steady supply of dry maple sticks it cooked my food quickly. Soon I had a hearty helping of oatmeal. The little plastic bottle next to the oatmeal contains honey, which was added to the oatmeal before dining.

Storm clouds began to move in during my break in the meadow. Soon the weather was threatening rain. After eating, I hiked a little farther up canyon, leaving the trail to explore around a little. My hike back down the canyon was in the rain. 

The following week I was back up the canyon. The vegetation was much greener than the week before.

Because of the way the wash meanders back and forth across the narrow canyon as it descends, the trail crosses the wash several times. The wash is usually dry, but on this day snowmelt from a heavy winter snowpack was pouring down the wash, making crossings challenging. Usually I was able to find a place where the stream was wider, shallower and had convenient stepping stones to cross on. A couple times I crossed the wash on fallen logs. A couple times I had to boulder hop above roaring chutes of water to get across. Once I thought I could make a place to cross by tossing a couple rocks for stepping stones into the stream. The rocks were each about a foot and a half in diameter. Shortly after tossing the rocks in, and checking their dubious stability with my hiking staff, I watched as the rapid current caught the hoped-for stepping stones and rolled them into deeper water. Time to find another place to cross.

A familiar view along the trail:

It was a little late in the day when I started the hike, so by the time I reached the meadow I sometimes cook meals at, the meadow was completely in shadow. That shadow was too dark for the camera when I photographed the mountain south of it. You'll just have to imagine a meadow at the bottom of this photo:

Returning to the trail fork I went up the left hand trail to a place I call "Moose Meadow." Instead of cooking a meal this time, I had just brought along some prepackaged snacks. Here they are, sitting on a large blue-grey limestone boulder full of brachiopod and crinoid fossils.

Since it was getting late, and the water crossings had been so tricky, I considered hiking out of the mountains a different way, one that would avoid the high Spring runoff. That would add a few miles to the return hike, some of which would be well after nightfall. After thinking it over, I returned the way I had come, once again successfully staying dry while crossing the stream eight times on my way back down the canyon.